by Arlene James
It took two trips, one for her and Chester to help get Stephen up the stairs, another for Chester to get the chair up to them.
“We need two chairs,” Stephen decided, waiting for Kaylie to get the sling in place once more. “It’s too much work this way. I’ll call Aaron.”
“Oh, don’t bother him with it,” Kaylie said. “If you really want a second chair, I’ll take care of it.”
“Do,” he told her. “If you don’t have to lug this chair up and down the stairs, I won’t feel so guilty for insisting you lug me up and down every day from now on.”
Kaylie grinned and shared a look with Chester. “I see. Created a monster, have we?”
“Nope. Just gave him a little room to roam. I’d kiss you both for it if I wasn’t afraid Chester would break my other arm.”
“Good call,” Chester quipped blandly, sending Kaylie and Stephen both off into gales of laughter.
They soon calmed down and solved the problem by renting a second chair, a chore accomplished by Stephen himself over the phone. Chester volunteered to go and get it, along with the new sling that Kaylie also ordered, and leave the chair parked in the cloakroom downstairs until needed. This arrangement allowed Stephen a new level of freedom that obviously lifted his spirits and signaled that he was truly on the mend.
Kaylie’s own delight was tempered by the knowledge that their time together was growing ever shorter, but she resolutely refused to dwell on tomorrow evening’s planned dinner. She would not take hope in it, would not let her imagination flit off on flights of fancy. Her purpose in Stephen’s life was to represent Christ to him. His purpose in hers was to help her father regain some perspective on his own life. Anything more would cause a rift between her and her father, and that surely could not be within God’s will. Could it?
Later, at home, she brushed off her father’s queries about the abruptness of the invitation and even rebuffed a question about Stephen’s progress with a bland reminder that she was not allowed to discuss a patient’s medical condition.
“Hmm,” Hubner said. “Well, I expect I’ll be able to judge for myself soon enough. I will be allowed to see him, won’t I?”
“Oh, yes,” Kaylie replied casually. Why she didn’t tell him that Stephen would be joining them for dinner, she didn’t know. It may have been the cold, hard weight of dread in the pit of her stomach. Or the hot flutter of guilty hope in her chest.
Stephen felt pretty much as he had the night of his first date—a little sick to his stomach, a little intrigued, a lot hopeful. That first real solo date had come later for him than it did for many young men.
His experiences as a young teen in the Netherlands had revolved around group activities, not that he’d had much time for friends. Hockey had usurped a large portion of his life even back then. After he’d moved to the U.S. to play triple-A at sixteen, he’d had even less time for socializing. It was the summer before college when he’d found himself on the receiving end of a surprising amount of female attention and had finally taken advantage of it.
Or it had taken advantage of him. He’d never been quite sure which. He still remembered that pretty blonde’s eagerness and the secret heartache and tawdry disappointment he’d felt when she’d casually moved on to the next guy. He’d kept it light ever since. Concentrating on hockey had seemed the saner course for a lot of reasons. He found nothing light or casual about his feelings for Kaylie Chatam, though—and the two of them were so far from dating that it was sadly laughable.
He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, critically taking his own measure. Teeth clenched, he smiled and turned his head to check the false teeth filling the upper and lower gaps in the side of his mouth to be sure that they looked natural. Getting one’s teeth knocked out was a given in hockey. Cosmetic dentistry loved the sport.
Having managed to shave himself from his chair earlier, with the hand mirror propped against a stack of books, Stephen now tackled his hair with a damp comb and the minimal use of his left hand.
The hair was a problem. He simply had too much of the stuff. It was so thick that he had long ago developed the habit of shaving his head at the beginning of every season and then at the end of it visiting the barber for a good styling, which he kept neat until the beginning of the next season. That way, he didn’t have to make time for visits to the barber during the season itself. Several other players used the same system, including a few on his own team. This year, however, the entire Blades lineup had decided, as a gesture of unity, to hit the ice for game one as bald as chicken eggs and not to cut their hair again until the season ended. Like him, they were all looking pretty shaggy about now. He solved his problem by combing the whole mess straight back from his brow and allowing the ends to curl at his nape. That, he decided, tweaking his open collar, would have to do.
Aaron had obligingly driven down that morning with a change of clothing for him, the result being softly pleated, slate-gray trousers and a loose, pearl-gray silk dress shirt that perfectly matched his eyes. With the cuffs left open and rolled back, the sleeves of the shirt were loose enough to accommodate the cast on his arm, but the outside seam of the right leg of his slacks had been carefully split to the knee by Dora. He wore these with dark gray socks and a matching leather belt.
Hobbling back to his chair, a task made surprisingly easier by the absence of the jacket sling, he wondered if anyone would appreciate all the trouble he had gone to in an effort to make himself presentable. Chester said not a word one way or the other as he pushed Stephen to the head of the stairs. Leaving the chair there, they managed the descent, Chester under Stephen’s left arm and Stephen supporting himself with his right hand on the stair rail.
He sat in the massive front parlor with the Chatam triplets, flirting shamelessly with all three of them when Kaylie and her father arrived. His heart pounded with ridiculous fervor at the sound of the opening door in the foyer. Two voices called out.
“Sisters?”
“Everyone?”
“In here,” Odelia trilled, fluttering her hanky as if they might spy it through the wall. She was dressed this evening all in ruffles, from the creamy pale pink of her soft blouse and skirt to the garish hot-pink of her shoes and earrings. Where she got such outlandish earrings he didn’t know, but these resembled quarter-sized leather buttons, each surrounded by a stiff leather ruffle, the whole being the size of a silver dollar.
Kaylie led the way, her step brisk as she entered the room. Her hair, Stephen noted immediately, hung down her back in a straight, silken fall. Only belatedly did he realize that she wore saddle-brown leggings with a sleeveless turquoise-blue tunic, the neckline cut straight across the shoulders. Neat drop earrings, each composed of a single turquoise stone the size of a thumbnail, and simple turquoise-colored flip-flops completed the ensemble, the most fetching, in Stephen’s opinion, that he’d seen her wear. He barely had time to take it all in when her father stepped into the room, paused as if to get his bearings and blatantly zoned in on Stephen.
This Chatam was a slender, gangly, pot-bellied older man of medium height with absurdly white, bushy eyebrows and thinning, light brown hair heavily infiltrated with ash-gray. He wore oversized, steel-rimmed glasses, calling attention to penetrating eyes the same dark brown shade as the dress slacks that he wore with heavy black dress shoes, a matching belt and a stark white polo shirt. Stephen nodded in greeting and watched the elder Chatam’s sagging face harden around a frown, his shoulders pulling back as those dark eyes took Stephen’s measure. The wheelchair, Stephen saw, was dismissed as inconsequential. When a bland expression of dignity smoothed over the older man’s frown, Stephen took it as a sure sign that he had been found wanting.
The weight of that felt shockingly heavy. It hurt more than Stephen could have imagined, and given his past that was saying something.
Since Nick’s death, Stephen’s life had evolved totally around hockey and those who paid attention to such things. When he’d wanted to impress someone, he’d d
one it on the ice. Unfortunately, Kaylie’s father didn’t look the sort to be dazzled by a deadly sweeping paddle-down or lightning-fast half-pad butterfly save.
Stephen had known, of course, from the very beginning that money and status counted for nothing here, either. The cachet of old money clung to these Chatams like perfume clung to a rose, though by all appearances Kaylie and her father were of modest means. Judging by the condition and amenities of Chatam House, the old girls themselves controlled a considerable bankroll, but Stephen seriously doubted if any of the three had been shopping for anything more than necessities in decades. In this family, money just did not seem to matter beyond the good that it could do. Otherwise, he would not have donated a handsome sum to some single parents’ ministry for the privilege of recuperating within these hallowed walls.
As for status, according to yesterday’s table conversation, the Chatams were as apt to take in convicted felons as pro sports figures, which put him in his place quite firmly. Still, Stephen could not complain.
The fact was, these Chatam women were the most generous, caring people he’d ever met. The jury remained out on the men, but with women like these, Stephen couldn’t blame the guys if they were more careful and protective than the average father or brother. He even thought that he might be a little offended on behalf of Kaylie and her aunts if such was not the case, all of which meant he had a problem, one he didn’t quite know how to handle.
With skill, money and status out of the equation, that just left Stephen with himself, which he knew was sadly lacking.
“Brother!” Odelia gushed, coming to her feet as Kaylie and her father approached. “Come meet our special guest.” Hanky fluttering like a bird desperate to escape her plump hand, Odelia made the introductions. “Stephen dear, this is our eldest brother, Hubner Chandler Chatam, Jr.”
Stephen resorted to a silent nod by way of acknowledgment, managing to keep perfectly still otherwise. “Hub, this is Stephen.” She broke off and turned blinking amber eyes on Stephen. “I’m afraid I don’t know your full name, dear.”
Leave it to the Chatam sisters to stand on ceremony.
“Oh, um, it’s Stephen George Radulf Landeberht Gallow.” He made himself smile, though he couldn’t remember the last time he’d even spoken his cumbersome moniker.
Odelia beamed. “How delightful!” She turned to her brother. “Hubner, this is—”
“I heard.” He thrust his hand at Stephen. A little surprised, Stephen shook it. Sort of. He’d barely begun the motion when Hubner took his hand back, turned and greeted his sisters.
“So how have you all been?” He glanced at his daughter, adding, “Kaylie’s brought home surprisingly little news.”
The sisters traded looks before putting on their smiles. While Hypatia ably guided the small talk, Odelia and Magnolia doing their parts, Stephen noticed that Kaylie wandered the room, first going to stand by the massive fireplace. She ran her fingertips over the ornate plasterwork before turning away to smell the huge flower arrangement standing atop a tall, three-legged table in the center of the space. From there, she ambled over to a heavy lamp with a colorful stained-glass shade. She was standing by the front window, gazing out over the long, looping drive, when Carol appeared in the doorway to remark that dinner could be served anytime the sisters were ready.
Only then did Kaylie come near Stephen. She walked over to release the brake on his chair and grip the handles in preparation for wheeling him to the dining room. They went last. Hypatia led the way, followed by Magnolia, Hubner and Odelia, in that order. For a moment, it seemed that Odelia and her brother would engage in a mini standoff as each insisted that the other take precedence, but then Hubner sent a pointed glance at Kaylie and went ahead, leaving Odelia to sparkle in their direction, flutter her hanky and prance off after him. Kaylie held a moment longer before backing the chair around and pushing it forward. They had almost reached the doorway when she finally spoke.
Leaning forward, she remarked softly, “You look nice.”
Stephen’s smile flashed. “You look more than nice.”
“Please don’t mind my father,” she went on anxiously.
Before he could make any sort of reply, she turned the chair into the dining room.
In his opinion, it was the dreariest room in the house. The woodwork had all been stained a black-brown to match the long, rectangular table and towering sideboard. An enormous rug, gold and black figures against an ivory background, did little to break up the darkness. Neither did the dingy wallpaper, yards and yards of it printed with regimented rows of tiny flowers, all seeming to march in lockstep. The only true splash of color in the room came from a bunch of flowers arranged in a long, low crystal epergne with brass feet in the center of the table.
A chair had been removed from the center of the near side of the table, leaving a space between the supporting columns. Odelia needlessly pointed them to it.
“Stephen, you’re here, and Kaylie, of course, is beside you.”
“Hubner, you can take the head of the table,” Hypatia said, giving Stephen the clear impression that this was normally her seat. “I’ll sit between you and Stephen.” That left Odelia and Hypatia on the other side of the table, with Odelia directly across from him. Smiling at Stephen, she shook out her heavy dark green napkin and spread it across her lap, saying, “I love these intimate family dinners.”
Family dinner, he thought, surveying with some amusement the array of dishes and silver in front of him. He wondered hopefully if this made him an honorary member of the Chatam family. Not, he imagined, if Hubner had anything to say about it.
Chester and Carol came in through a door in the end of the room, carrying bowls and platters. Hilda followed with a silver basket of puffy hot rolls. Chester placed a platter of meat surrounded by cooked cabbage directly in front of Hubner, saying, “Your favorite, Pastor Hub.”
Hub Chatam rubbed his slightly protruding belly with both hands and looked to Chester’s wife. “Hilda, you are a jewel among women.” He cast a look at Kaylie, adding, “I haven’t had eye-of-the-round roast since I last ate it at this table.”
In addition to the beef, cabbage and bread, there were bowls of roasted potatoes, carrots and a dark, rich gravy that had Stephen licking his chops. Without invitation or comment, Hub spoke an elaborate blessing that Stephen frankly had trouble following. The “amens” of the others caught him off guard, causing his own to lag a syllable behind. It was the only word that he spoke of his own accord throughout the entire meal, though the sisters did their best to draw him out with questions and comments. He was polite, of course, and as pleasant as he knew how to be, but Kaylie’s careful silence naturally fed his own, while Hubner Chatam’s heightened his unease exponentially.
By dinner’s end, despite the wonderful food, Stephen longed for the privacy of his sitting room, so when the Chatam sisters suggested that the group gather in the family parlor, Stephen at first declined.
“I—I think I’ll just head back upstairs, if you don’t mind.” He’d have been fine if he’d stopped there, but no, he had to add, “There’s an important hockey game on TV that I need to watch.”
“Oh!” Odelia squealed. “How lovely! We’ve been wanting to learn more about the game, haven’t we, sisters?”
To his horror, both Magnolia and Hypatia agreed. Desperately, he looked to Kaylie for rescue.
“Are you in pain?” she asked softly. He opened his mouth to lie, but then she checked her watch. “Mmm, not time for your next meds yet.”
That’s when Hubner Chatam got to his feet and tossed down his napkin, declaring, “Yes, by all means, educate us, if you will, Mr. Gallow.”
Caught like a rat in a trap. Kaylie placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, observing softly, “You’re going to watch it anyway, and the TV in the family room is larger than the one in your suite.”
Sighing inwardly, Stephen put on a smile and nodded.
A mixture of modern furnishings and antiques gave
the windowless family room a comfortably casual feel. A pair of overstuffed sofas upholstered in a floral pattern and a trio of comfortable chairs made the space feel homey if a bit crowded. The television was, as promised, a larger version of the one in his suite. At least fifty inches in size, the flat screen hung on the wall adjacent to the obviously well-used fireplace. Under other circumstances, Stephen would have been delighted to watch the game in such surroundings. Unfortunately, watching hockey with the elderly Chatams was every bit as bad as Stephen had feared it would be.
The sisters asked more questions than a roomful of cheeky third-graders, and their brother harrumphed over every answer and explanation. The tactics of the other team didn’t improve Stephen’s mood any, either. By midway through the second period of play, Stephen was so aggravated that he forgot himself and shouted at the television.
“Come on, ref! How many times are you going to let them interfere with my goalie?”
“Your goalie?” Hubner Chatam scoffed. “Why do sports fans always claim a form of ownership? It’s not as if you have some actual financial interest in the team, is it?”
Stephen required a moment to fully ingest that seemingly foolish assertion. “Other than the fact that they pay my salary, no, but it’s my team, so he’s my goalie.”
“You work for the Blades?” Hubner asked pointedly, his dark eyes going wide behind the lenses of his glasses.
Stephen spread a glance among the women. The sisters seemed as confused as he. Kaylie, however, looked stricken, her cheeks blotched with pink.
“I—I don’t guess I ever mentioned that Stephen is the starting goalie for the Blades,” she said to her father.
“Was,” Stephen corrected, “until I landed here.” He smacked the arm of his chair with his palm. Glancing at the TV, he added softly, determinedly, “Won’t be in this chair for much longer, though, boys.”
Hubner Chatam suddenly catapulted himself to his feet with much more speed and agility than Stephen would have judged the old fellow capable of. “You’re a professional hockey player!”
